Bad Whiskey
by Mali Bear's Buddy
Summary: Happy Birthday, Dean Winchester! Before Apocalypse or Hell, there was a man who met a blonde in her mother's bar. A kinkier Mystery Spot - instead of dying, Dean gets, well, you know... Dean/Jo - Now Complete!
1. Man Eater

**A/N:** You're in for a wild ride: five chapters, four days. My muse went a little crazy - guess she didn't like being told I write too much smut? - but a bunch of my ideas have been a little nutty recently. Okay, _a lot_ nutty...you just haven't seen them. Yet.

This one stemmed from conversations had with three of my favorite Twitter pals - **JerkWinchester**, **BlondeHarvelle** and **ISwearInItalian** - and they all contributed little things they may or may not have realized to the process.

I've been under the weather most of the week and my lovely beta, **stephaniew**, has been slammed at work. This is self-betaed. All mistakes are mine...and I'll be happy to fix anything glaring.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_...but I couldn't resist giving our favorite bad boy a birthday gift.

Chapter One: Man Eater

_The Roadhouse_

_January 24, 2007_

He stares at the amber liquid in the tumbler in front of him as if it holds the answers to all of life's questions. Of course it doesn't and he knows it, but he's desperate to avoid the two sets of female eyes boring into his soul.

If you know Dean Winchester at all, you read that last line and stopped to think, "Wait...what?" Dean loves the ladies and, hell, the more the merrier and the better his chances, right? Normally. But not tonight.

Tonight's answer is less expected than you would think: he's intimidated. Dean himself would tell you everybody gets intimidated sometimes, but this time it's not by the person you're guessing. Nope. Ellen Harvelle "went out for pretzels" almost 20 minutes ago.

You weren't expecting that, were you? You did get one thing right, though: one of those sets of eyes belongs to a pissed off Joanna Beth Harvelle. And Jo's got every right to be irritated. She's behind the bar, slinging shots of whiskey and tequila, while another woman flirts with _her_ man.

They may not be committed and there may be a silent understanding that what he does when they aren't together is his own business, but this? This is _her_ place. And she'll be dammed if he'll pick up other women right in front of her.

A tall brunette in a tight, red dress exposing entirely too much cleavage has been sending Dean drinks and smiling at him all night. The one he holds in his hand now is one she sloshed over a cocktail napkin in her fury over his smile of thanks.

When "Red" makes a show of crossing and uncrossing her legs, no doubt trying to give Dean a glimpse of her panties, Jo snaps. Turning on her heel, she unties her apron and thrusts it into Ash's grip. "Keep an eye on things, Dr. Badass," she instructs, rounding the bar. "No free drinks or Mom'll kick both our asses!"

Her friend does little more than grin as he watches Jo approach Dean, arriving seconds before the brunette can reach him. Jo takes his hand and pulls him from the stool, leading him toward the door. Catching the other woman's disappointment, she smirks softly before pushing through the front door.

"What was that?" Dean utters with a raised eyebrow.

Rather than answering, Jo grabs the collar of his signature leather jacket and tugs his mouth down to hers in a searing kiss. Her tongue whips against his and she whimpers as his arms surround her. Shifting gears she sucks on his lower lip, tugging it gently with her teeth before popping it loose. She kisses along his jawline and nibbles at his earlobe teasingly.

Making a path down his neck, she opens her eyes and notices Red standing at the window with her nose all but pressed to the glass. Unsure of what's come over her, Jo decides to give the woman a show. It's daring and unlike her, but she's fired up and feels the need to prove herself and her point.

Dean's legs quiver beneath him as Jo steps away. He licks his lips and watches as she takes his calloused hand in her own and crooks her finger at him. She backs slowly toward the Impala and he can't take his eyes off the way she pins her kiss-swollen lower lip beneath her teeth.

Releasing him, Jo sits on the hood of his car. Leaning back, she bites the tip of her finger and he catches a flicker of naked hunger in her eyes. It draws him in and he nestles himself between her knees, causing her denim skirt to ride up slightly.

Hand fisting in the silk of her ponytail, he angles her mouth beneath his. The kiss is a devastating exploration and his pace and grip are brutal. She's sure to have a bruise where he cups her thigh, his thumb strumming against her delicate flesh. It isn't until she shivers that he remembers they're outside...of her mother's bar, no less.

"Jo," he growls breathlessly.

"Dean," she moans back against his parted lips.

"Let's go somewhere," he murmurs, teeth nipping alternating with lips feathering against her jaw as he removes his jacket and wraps it around her. "Pack a bag."

Jo doesn't answer. Instead, wicked little fingers work his belt buckle as she coaxes him back to her mouth. She tastes the whiskey on his tongue and possession courses through her veins. Stroking playfully, he hardens even further in her grasp.

Pulling away, his eyes comb the parking lot and he reaches to still her touch. She's electrifying. He's scared he'll lose control. He's never seen her like this and it turns him on. Big time. "Come on," he pleads, his voice rich with want. "Ellen'll be back soon..."

Chuckling, she laces her calves behind his thighs and pulls him against her. Her voice honey-thick with desire she breathes, "You really think Mom would go out for pretzels an hour before close on a Wednesday night?"

Dean can't think with his big brain. Not with Jo wrapped firmly around him. His eyes slam shut and he gulps against the pressure of her hand as her mouth wanders his neck. His hands slip under the hem of her top, fingertips brush her sides. "'Going for pretzels' is code, Deano," he feels her smirk just before her tongue darts over his pulse point. "She won't be back before tomorrow."

With a groan, Dean slips a hand beneath her skirt and allows his fingers to snake into her panties. Two could play at this game. Her movements still, hands falling to the hood of the car as he strokes his fingers teasingly against her. Drawing back, he licks his lips thinking about taking her to the backseat as the wind whips icily around them. Gravel crunches as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he prepares to make his move.

A moan passes Jo's lips at the loss of Dean's thick fingers as her body pulses. She feels it in her fingers and her toes. Shifting almost to the edge of the hood, she seeks his mouth in a desperate kiss. His hands clutch at her thighs and she knows what he's thinking, so she shakes her head. "Take me," she whispers against his lips. "Right. Here."

He grins, he can't help himself. He pushes her skirt up her hips and her panties to the side as he positions them. Rocking into her, he mutters a curse as she engulfs him. They move in tandem; back and forth, slipping together, tongues dancing.

It's an intimate battle for dominance - each pushing the other, neither willing to surrender. Panting, Jo purrs Dean's name as she finds her peak. Enthralled by the beauty of her face as she climaxes, Dean follows quickly.

Cupping his face as he rights their clothes, she plucks tenderly at his lips. Smiling, her breath coming in frosty tendrils, she tells him, "Happy Birthday, Winchester."

And it is. A very happy birthday indeed. Dean smirks and pulls her closer for a deep kiss. When they come apart, he takes her hand and, together, they walk back to the warmth of the bar.


	2. It Ain't Easy Being Green

**A/N:** At some point there'll be a two-for-one special...but I'm not going to say when it'll be. Gotta keep things interesting... [wink]

Many thanks to friend and beta **stephaniew** for helping to polish this one and add a few final touches. [gulp] Think I toasted her iPad again...oops?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_...if I did poor Dean wouldn't have much of a wardrobe. That enough lovin' for you **JerkWinchester**?

Chapter Two: It Ain't Easy Being Green

_The Roadhouse_

_January 24, 2007_

He stares at the amber liquid in the tumbler in front of him as if it holds the answers to all of life's questions. Of course it doesn't and he knows it, but he's desperate to avoid making an ass out of himself.

A tall and lanky blonde hunter has been flirting with Jo all night. And she's been leaning over the bar, giving him a view of her cleavage in the little pink top that's his favorite. The one she was wearing the first time they were together. It makes his blood boil.

Jaw setting tightly as he watches Jo laugh and blush, he slips off of his stool. Smiling territorially at the other man, Dean interrupts with a tilt of his head, "Hey, babe, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Jo smiles sweetly at Dean. "I'll get with you later, Deano. David here was just telling me about an interesting hunt."

He draws a stubborn breath. "David" could go fuck himself. They may not have a commitment (and he may not be sure he wants one), but he'll be damned if he'll watch someone else take her away from him.

"You don't mind if I borrow my girlfriend, do ya, buddy?" he asks with a glare.

David picks up his beer and raises his hands in universal symbol of surrender. "Sorry, Dean, I didn't know," he answers. Nodding to Jo, he says, "It's not that exciting anyway."

After running a hand through her hair, Jo crosses her arms. Scoffing, she raises a brow, "Girlfriend, huh? Since when do you do labels?"

Dean falters, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Look, Jo, I..."

Jo growls, her hands balling into fists as she turns toward the back of the bar. "You're unbelievable!"

Dean follows quickly and drags Jo into the pantry. Kicking the door closed, he waits for her reaction. She turns to say something to him and they come face to face. Suddenly, his lips are on hers and she forgets her anger at being treated like a child.

"Dean?" she asks breathlessly, trying to focus. But how can she focus when he's kissing her like _that_?

He doesn't reply, just continues whispering his lips over her jaw line toward her ear. Every touch of her creamy skin intoxicating. He's afraid to make eye contact. Afraid she'll deck him or, worse, knee him in the groin.

She shivers at the heat of his breath against her ear. "What are we doing?" she asks, her voice an innocent whisper.

He can't avoid a response this time, his hand nestling at the nape of her neck, but it's her kiss-swollen lips he finds himself staring at when he finally speaks, "You want me to stop?"

Eyes shining even in the dim light, she bites her lower lip and shakes her head. She gasps when he backs her against the shelving in effort to hold her closer as he devours her. He smiles against her lips.

Tracing the line of her jaw with the pads of his fingers in a light caress, Dean leans into Jo. He nips playfully at her bottom lip before allowing his tongue to ease the sting. She whimpers and reaches for the buttons on his shirt. Shifting away, he pulls the flannel and his t-shirt off in a single motion and casts them to the floor_._

He prides himself on being in control when it comes to women. Only this time his control is fraying dangerously with every kiss. With every swipe of their tongues. Every murmur and moan. Every touch of her not so innocent fingers as they trail over the ridges of his abs to his belt.

Jo smirks as Dean kisses her with hungry desperation. His hand slips from the curve of her waist down to cup her firm bottom before slipping to the back of her thighs, silently encouraging her to wrap her legs around him.

There is a clatter as they knock something off the shelf. It should matter, but it doesn't. Nothing matters now. Nothing but the feel of of his arousal pressing against her. Something between a moan and a sigh escapes her parted lips as he pulls away, setting her down when he realizes there's no place to put her.

Dean's big, rough hands make quick work of her shirt, sending it careening to the floor near his own. He traces the outline of her nipples through the nearly sheer lace of her bra, eyeing the peaks with fascination as they tighten further_. _Removing it, his eyes caress her body in a manner that rises goose flesh and a flush of pale pink to her skin.

Grinning wickedly, he spins her around. She moans as his mouth comes back in contact with her neck, his hands coming to explore her breasts. His touch is like throwing a match onto gasoline and her knees weaken.

Realizing he has her right where he wants her, Dean guides her hands down to grip the shelf in front of her. Trailing calloused fingertips up her arms and down over her back, he moans and turns her face to kiss her over her shoulder.

Devilish hands drag the little skirt she's wearing up around her waist before flirting with her panties. Reaching the juncture of her thighs, he finds her wet and ready for him. Far from inexperienced, he gasps at how much this discovery turns him on. At how Jo should have such a hold on him after such a short time.

"I want you," he growls against her ear. "It's been too long..." It's far from how he imagined the night going, but he can't stop now. He peppers her shoulder with kisses and tiny nips as he works her up with his fingers. The feel of her excitement makes him harden painfully. "Even when you're pissing me off, I want you."

Jo tries to take in what Dean's telling her, but her brain spins with arousal. It's never been like this before - so all consuming. She's been with other men, but no one else has turned her body into an inferno with his touch. She gasps as he rips the flimsy lace of her panties from her body, barely registering the _snick_ of his zipper or the loss of his touch.

He grunts and nips at her shoulder as he fills her. Feeling her clench around him drives him on and causes him to pick up the pace. She makes him crazy, drives him mad with desire, pushes him to the very brink of his control.

"I hate watching you flirt," he confesses, bringing one of her arms up around his neck. Tugging at her earlobe, he mutters. "You're mine."

"Dean.." she cries, drawing his name out. Her body flutters around his and she stretches up on her toes.

He wraps a strong arm around her waist as he continues to thrust, varying depth and speed. He works to give her everything - to leave her with a reminder of what only he could do to her. He's rewarded when she moans throatily, "_Christo_..."

With a low groan of his own, he collapses against her back. Once the fog of arousal and the power of his climax clear, he feels like an asshat. They'd had sex wherever and whenever they could before...but in her mother's pantry? Where any number of Roadhouse employees or Ellen herself could've walked in? Did he have a death wish?

Grabbing her clothes, Jo clutches them to her chest as she rights her skirt. She chuckles and shakes her head, "I should kick your ass for this."

Dean smirks. "But you won't," he answers.

Moistening her lips with a flicker of her tongue, she kisses him. It's gentle and playful at first, but quickly grows hot. Popping his lower lip free as she pulls back, she grins and says, "Happy birthday, Winchester."

And, as she slips her ruined panties into his pocket with a grin, it is. A very happy birthday indeed.


	3. Double Vision

**A/N:** Yeah...so I'm behind schedule. After being sick last week, I spent my first day back at the office in meetings. Meetings involving really uncomfortable chairs. I was in so much pain when I got home, I couldn't think.

[grumbles] Stupid back injury...I hope Dean will forgive me for extending the celebration by a day (or two). I mean, he's gotta be exhausted from all the lovin', right?

A special thank you to **ISwearInItalian** for cheering me up and keeping me from tears last night; to my dog, Mali, for waking me up before dawn this morning much to Buddy's chagrin; and **stephaniew** for betaing (and we weren't sure this could be done...are you as surprised as I am?).

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_.

Chapter Three: Double Vision

_The Roadhouse_

_January 24, 2007_

He stares at the amber liquid in the tumbler in front of him as if it holds the answers to all of life's questions. Of course it doesn't, but he's too drunk to know it.

Stopping in front of him, Jo puts her hand over his glass and takes it away. "I know you hate your birthday, Deano," she chuckles, "but, _Christo_, you think you've had enough?"

Dean looks up at her. Her face is blurry and it's almost as if there are two of her standing in front of him. The stern, badass she attempted to be and the sweet shell beneath the surface. The one who challenged him in and out of bed...and the one who sighed his name as he filled her, making him long to protect and cherish her.

He grins cockily. She has gorgeous eyes. They are almost the same color as his favorite drink. "Come on, Jo," he says. It's not quite a slur, but the words are thick. They drip like honey from his tongue. Laughing, he adds, "It's my party and I'll drink if I want to."

Rolling her eyes, Jo turns to Ash. "You good to lock up, Dr. Badass?" she asks. "I'll clean everything up and get the deposits ready after I get Princess over here settled in the spare room."

Ash nods and gives her a wave of his hand. "Shoo," he answers. "Go do your thing." Behind the back of his hand, he whispers with a wink, "What Ellen doesn't know won't hurt anybody."

Jo laughs back, "Drunk as he is? Like that's gonna happen!"

"Hey!" Dean fusses, shaking a single finger (at least he thinks it's one...it looks like three) in the direction of both Jos standing in his line of sight. "I resent that! I've had some of my best sex drunk."

Easing his arm around her neck, she helps Dean off the stool. "Sure you have, loverboy," she teases as she leads him through the kitchen to the stairs.

"You oughtta know," he reasons, flirtatiously smacking her backside. "We were both wasted in Denver."

Jo shakes her head. She's not convinced they sealed the deal that night. They'd woken up half dressed and fought mutual hangovers with heavy petting and some of the best sex she'd ever had. A grin crossing her lips, she teases, "We were hungover, not drunk. There's a difference."

Catching her off guard, he presses her against the wall in the hallway. The whiskey depths of her wide, innocent eyes threaten to drown him. With a groan, he kisses Sweet Jo - deep, wet and hungry. He loves how soft and pliant she is under his hands. How she so willingly gives herself to him.

Jo feels a warm rush wash over her body. She gets dizzy from the liquor on his lips and tongue, buzzing with the delight of his touch. "Dean," she murmurs. "Please..."

Rumbling from deep within his chest, a growl of pleasure escapes. He likes making her beg. "Please, what?" he questions, fingers tracing the scoop neck on her little shirt. The shirt he wonders if she wore for him. He wants to ask her. To see if she remembers.

Eh. Of course she remembers! He's Dean Winchester!

Continuing his assault on her mouth and throat, he repeats the question a little too loudly near her ear. "Please what?"

Feisty Jo attacks. She easily overpowers his slow reflexes and, wresting control from him, pushes his back against the wall. "Please get your ass in gear," she quips. "I don't wanna be up all night."

Her commanding tone only excites him further. She surrounds him. Not in the way he wants her to, all hot and slick, but... He snickers like a 10-year-old. His brain won't leap away from sex. He enjoys thinking about it. Sex with Jo is pretty great. He should know. He has _plenty _of experience.

Leaning close, Dean lets his hands drop to her bottom. They slip into the back pockets of her skirt and give her a little squeeze. "I don't need all night," he says huskily. "Only maybe 7-10 minutes." Reaching up to stroke her face he adds, "I promise you'll sleep like a baby..."

Jo can't stifle a laugh. She's not sure he's ever gone less than 10 minutes. Not with her anyway. Then again, he has a gift of making 15 minutes feel like an hour and a half.

In the room, he looks at both of them in the dim light of the moon. Feisty Jo he's not sure about, she's all business and no play tonight. But Sweet Jo? He's pretty sure he can seduce her. Easily. She's the one he reaches for.

But it's Feisty Jo who undresses him. Pushes him onto the bed and takes off his boots and socks. Digs her fingers into the fabric of his shirt to remove it. Her hands are quick and he senses frustration and tension in her body.

When he looks up at her, he does a double take as he meets the gaze of Sweet Jo. Her hands float over his shoulders. She caresses him like it's the first time every time. Lets him explore her body. And he likes that idea at the moment.

Peeling her shirt up, he trails a line of kisses across her abdomen. His tongue dips into her navel and he feels her sway into his hands when he places them on her slim hips.

Jo takes a step back, trying to break Dean's hold on her. It's not that he isn't tempting or that she doesn't want him. It's that she's got too much to do. Her body and brain war over what to do. Whether to stay, letting herself be consumed by him, or go, hurrying through her chores and hoping he's still conscious when she comes back.

Feeling chilly, she wraps her arms around herself. She bites her lip and wishes this were an easy choice. Being with Dean was...

Still chasing Sweet Jo, Dean catches the threat of Feisty Jo dragging her back to the bar and he gets to his feet. His lips find hers and his hands skim up her sides, gathering fabric in his fists. He loves her shyness. The way she slows him down but doesn't stop him.

"Lemme warm you up," he offers, his mouth parting from hers just long enough to remove the shirt.

Jo snickers softly. "By undressing me?" Her voice is breathier than she means to be. She means to be commanding and force him to behave, even as her fingers curl into the waist of his jeans and tug him closer.

Dean gulps at Feisty Jo's comment. He's almost got her convinced, too, and his body twitches with lust at the thought of being dominated. Of having her riding him, the long, lean lines of her pulsing around him as he buries himself in her.

Forgetting Sweet Jo for a moment, Dean focuses on Feisty Jo. This Jo likes him rougher and more aggressive. Hurriedly, he unzips her skirt and pushes it over her hips, leaving her in her underwear. Nipping at her shoulder, teeth scraping lightly along her collarbone, he tugs at the straps of her bra and says, "Body heat."

"That you or the bourbon talking, Deano?" she sighs arching into his grasp, the battle lost.

"Sweetheart, the only thing I wanna be under the influence of is your thighs," he tells her, biting his lip as she mimics the move he used, her tongue flickering over his tattoo.

He's not sure which Jo is pulling his belt loose or which tactics to use to get her into bed. Both of them seem to be kissing him - Sweet Jo with her sassy tongue and Feisty Jo with nips of her teeth. Having both at once may be the sexiest thing ever.

Sweet Jo lays next to him in the bed. They make out like teenagers - kissing and caressing - but it's Feisty Jo whose hand closes around him. His hips buck and he moans into Sweet Jo's mouth.

Sweet Jo giggles, her voice sugary sweet as she whispers, "We need to make this quick." His hand snaking into her panties, fingers slipping into her heat makes her moan. With difficulty, she adds, "and quiet."

Feisty Jo strips off their underwear and settles herself over him. She shifts, undulating in his lap as her nails scrape over his chest. In complete control, she rides him and he sits up to wrap his arms around her. Shuddering above him, she pants, "This what you had in mind?"

It is. Dean loves the way she keeps her bra on. Feisty Jo is never quite completely naked. They're always in too much of a hurry. She always leaves something on and it's sexy as hell. It turns him on.

But he wants to turn someone else on, too. To finish the job he started. So he takes Sweet Jo beneath him, kissing her chest and reaching behind her to strip off her bra. He loves the way she whimpers when he draws the tight peak of her nipple into his mouth, skillfully manipulating it between his finger and thumb.

Sweet Jo arches off the bed when he fills her. She murmurs his name again and again as he rolls his hips into hers. The little noises that she makes turn him on, at once making him yearn to slow down and rush to the finish. Compromising, he raises her leg around his waist to hit a deeper angle.

Jo's toes curl. She's not sure what's gotten into Dean tonight. Not sure how he's managed to pull out all the stops with so much whiskey coursing through his system. Before she can wonder if it was an act - if he somehow managed to act more wasted than he actually was - he's carrying her up to another devastating peak. "Yes!" she cries out, unable to control herself.

Dean pauses, staring down at her for a second and wondering when and how they had swapped places. Feisty Jo drags his back to her lips to catch her moans. It's hot because _she_ prefers to be on top or in front of him. She's also the one who makes all the hot noises. The one who isn't afraid to get loud.

It's the feeling of Feisty Jo giving up control that finishes him. He grunts and nips at her neck as he pumps in several hard thrusts before collapsing on top of her.

Dean closes his eyes and rolls to the side. He has to close his eyes because the room spins. Dizzied and satisfied by his climax, he doesn't notice when she slips from the bed and gets dressed.

Laughing softly, Jo wishes she could curl up with him but knows there's still work to do. Covering him up and leaning in to kiss him, she says, "Happy birthday, Winchester."

And, as he sleepily pulls her down for a kiss before she slips from the room, it is. A very happy birthday indeed


	4. Love Me Tender

**A/N:** BOGO on birthday wishes? Happy Birthday, Dean Winchester! Only one chapter left and it'll go up tomorrow...stay tuned!

Many thanks to **stephaniew** for putting up with my muse when I go on these tight scheduled romps! I'd be lost without her...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_.

Chapter Four: Love Me Tender

_The Roadhouse_

_January 24, 2007_

He stares at the amber liquid in the tumbler in front of him as if it holds the answers to all of life's questions. Of course it doesn't and he knows it, but he's tired and she doesn't get off for another twenty minutes.

After what feels like an eternity, she comes up behind him and snakes her arm around his waist. "Help me put the chairs up?" she asks sweetly.

A grin spreads across his face. He's been waiting all night to have her to himself and now he can. His palms are sweaty in anticipation of what he wants to tell her and his stomach flip-flops wondering what her reaction will be.

After eyeing him over the tables for a while, she asks, "What's up, Deano? You've been somewhere between lookin' sick and like you swallowed a canary all night."

He digs into his pocket and pulls a quarter. Making his way to the old jukebox, he pulls up her favorite song before twirling her in his arms. They dance as the notes of _Can't Fight This Feeling _fill the Roadhouse.

Dean sings in an off-key growl and Jo tries not to laugh. Truth is, it's perfect. Being in his arms, feeling his lips on her neck and his breath against her ear. As the song ends, she reminds him, "But it's _your_ birthday..."

"Uh-huh," he answers with a kiss. His eyes float up towards the ceiling before dropping back down to hers. "And you can give me a present. Let's go upstairs..."

Jo considers it for a moment, wondering why Dean is suddenly so willing to risk being caught in her room.

Dean laughs. "You really think Ellen would run and buy pretzels 20 minutes before close on a Wednesday when you've got a truck coming in the morning?" he asks her. Brushing her hair from her eyes, he leans down and kisses her. It's harder this time. Searching for the answers that weren't in the whiskey.

Jo pulls back, confusion clouding her eyes. "Wait... You mean...?"

"It's code for sex," Dean nods, curling his lip as he shrugs.

"I don't even want to think about..." she says, her eyes wide as she shakes her head.

"So don't," he whispers over her lips. Urging her legs around his hips, he carries her through the empty bar. "Let me put you to bed..."

Walking into her bedroom, Dean lowers Jo onto the mattress. He smiles at the way her golden hair fans in soft waves over the old, flannel pillow case. He gives her featherlight kisses, his lips teasing over her jawline.

Laying beside her, he slips a hand under her shirt and strokes over her side with his thumb. The process starts an intimate dance - his shirt for hers, both pairs of shoes, her skirt for his pants all hitting the floor- as they slowly work each other up. It's playful and young. It makes him feel carefree. Makes him remember why this isn't a good idea...and why it _is_.

He licks and nibbles his way across her chest, kneading her breasts and causing her nipples to pebble. When he stops his ministrations and stares down at her, Jo squirms and arches against him. "What is it?" she purrs softly. "Is something wrong?"

Dean licks his lips and gives her a half smile. Reaching out, he flips the switch on the bedside lamp so he can look at her - _really _look at her - and gauge the moment. His heart pounds in his ears, threatening to make him deaf. He feels like he's fifteen again. Christ, this was embarrassing...

She feels shy - more than that, self conscious - it's not like this is the first time. Only somehow it feels like it is. Somehow it _feels_ different. New.

She can't think about it. If she does, she'll question. And questioning Dean as he was still peeling off her clothes required way more energy than she could muster. So, instead, she touches him. Runs her hands over his chest and back as he hovers over her.

He moves slowly, careful to keep her off balance. The deep, wet kisses leave them both breathless. Propping himself up on elbow, he traces the pillow of her kiss-swollen lower lip with the rough pad of his thumb. He licks his own lips when her eyes darken and flutter closed as she leans into the touch. Brushing his lips over hers, he mumbles, "I love kissing you."

The words don't register to her ears. He could have been reading from the phone book. All she can do is whimper and enjoy his touch. Her legs shift together and her fingers dig into his biceps before moving down his arm. She tries to angle his touch where she wants it. Tries to show him what she wants.

His mouth trails over her nipples in turn as his hand creeps to her panties. She feels the vibration of his moan on her skin. Smells the unique mix of bourbon, leather and musky aftershave. Hears how ragged her breathing is becoming.

"I love touching you," he murmurs. He does. The feel of her body above or beneath him is intoxicating. He wants her in a way he's never wanted anyone else. Thinks about her in a way he's never thought of anyone else.

Jo shuts her eyes tightly as he continues to assault her senses. She feels like he's burning her down to her very bones.

"Mmm..." he whispers, sucking her earlobe into his mouth as his fingers dip into the heat of her core. "I love making you wet..."

She tries to still her hips, figuring he's teasing her to make her beg. He does that sometimes and it drives her mad. Turning her face to his, she captures his mouth.

"Jo..." he husks, positioning himself at her entrance. Her body pulses around his. She's deliciously wet and they glide together effortlessly. He smirks when her head drops back and she lets out a sultry moan. "I love the noises you make for me."

The way she surrounds him - hot, sticky and wet - makes Dean groan as he plunges deeply into her. Closing his eyes, he presses his forehead to hers and shifts her leg higher around his waist. He varies his thrusts. Short and quick to long and deep. Before he knows it, the words - the ones he's been thinking since he first saw her tonight - spill from his lips. "I love you..."

For a moment, Jo stiffens. This time it registers. The confession steals her breath. She's not sure what to say or do. Dean makes up her mind for her. He seals his lips to hers in a tender kiss, slowing his hips almost teasingly but not stopping.

Looking up at him bravely, she sees the emotion shining in his eyes and knows he's telling her the truth. What he says next steals what little bit there is of her heart that doesn't already belong to him. It brands her. "I'm yours," he whispers against her ear. "If you want me..."

With a final kiss, he collapses. She feels the loss when he rolls away, but he settles beside her, entwining their fingers. It's her turn to lay on her side. For a moment, they just look at each other. Smiling, she squeezes his fingers.

"I don't deserve you," he says, lips dusting across her knuckles as he holds her close.

"Have you been talking to Mom again?" she teases.

Laughing he shakes his head. This whole thing is still just a little surreal to him. Was this what it was like to be happy?

Leaning up to kiss him, she says, "Happy birthday, Winchester."

And, as she snuggles against his chest, it is. A very happy birthday indeed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Could I _really_ do this and not throw in a cheesy chick flick moment?


	5. Cherry Pie

**A/N: **Good things come to those who wait...and for waiting you get a super long final installment! Thank you for your patience and support!

Warmest (extra/belated) birthday wishes to my favorite Twitter Dean, **JerkWinchester**! Thank you for letting me know I didn't have to rush. I hope you enjoy having your pie and eating it, too!

Got Twitter? Follow **JerkWinchester **and **BlondeHarvelle **to see where I've been getting some of my inspiration. These two are hot, hot, HOT!

Special thanks to **ISwearInItalian **and **stephaniew **for being my extra eyes. Michi, you're my favorite fangirl and I adore you! Steph, not entirely sure what I'd do without you...thank you for your unwavering support and willingness to follow my muse along with me...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_.

Chapter Five: Cherry Pie

_The Roadhouse_

_January 24, 2007_

Jo Harvelle prepares to close up shop for the night. She watches her last customers walk toward the door and gives them a little wave as David turns up the collar of his coat and Scarlet tightens her scarf before the pair head out into the chilly Nebraska evening.

Taking off her apron, she rolls the strings around it and tucks it into the little safe under the bar. She smiles at the only remaining person in the room, suddenly glad she'd gone ahead with her plans that afternoon even though she hadn't been sure he'd come.

Dean stares at the amber liquid in the tumbler in front of him in confusion. Something isn't quite right. It's like déjà vu. He feels like he's been here before. And not once.

He jumps when he feels her arms snake around him from behind, sloshing whiskey over the cocktail napkin beneath his glass. Both actions are somehow familiar and he feels as though someone has walked across his grave.

Calloused fingertips slowly graze her arm and he smiles when she shivers at the delicate touch. Usually he's rough, almost abrupt even, so it's almost a surprise. "I think the whiskey's bad, Harvelle," he tells her with a shaky breath. "Been seein' things all night."

Jo chuckles lightly and leans her head against his shoulder. She loves his scent - bourbon, leather and the musk of light aftershave. It surrounds her senses and makes her warm and wet. Then again, maybe it's just his touch.

Reaching for the glass, she sniffs the rim and takes a small sip. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she grimaces in agreement, "Bad whiskey. Why didn't you say something?"

Dean shrugs and turns to face her. "Tasted better than the cheap shit we've been drinkin' at Bobby's," he says, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone.

The whiskey tint of her eyes makes him dizzier than the liquor in the glass and the shirt she's wearing makes his pants tighten. He dips his head down to hers and captures her mouth in a searing kiss as he slides off the stool and pulls her flush against his frame.

Jo leans in closer, longing to melt into him and feel him pulsing inside her. As if on command, his tongue teases between the petals of her lips and brushes against hers. Her knees weaken and she stumbles backward with a soft smile. "We'll get to that," she promises, "Help me put the chairs up?"

Kissing her forehead, he nods before making his way to the back of the bar. He starts putting chairs on the tables, an idea forming in his head. He could use all the little fantasies to his advantage. Glancing at the old jukebox and at Jo, he asks, "Ellen isn't coming back, is she?"

Jo laughs and shakes her head. Together, they say, "Going for pretzels is code."

Dean pops a quarter in and hits the combo for her favorite song. The one he knows she likes to listen to after she dims the lights. He hums along and before either of them realize it, everything is put away and Jo's hand is slipping into his.

"C'mon," she says with a smile as she leads him back toward the kitchen. "I have a surprise for you."

Dean stands at the door as she slips into the darkened room. Whether the Harvelle matriarch is here or not, he's not exactly sure he wants to enter Ellen's territory lest the older woman's radar bring her screaming back to the house.

Jo move around, the pale moonlight streaming in through the kitchen window shimmering over her cornsilk hair, and part of him wants to growl for her to grab a bag so they can blow out of here. Get away from Sam and Ellen for a few days. Screw themselves silly until their bodies ache deliciously from mutual gratification. A bigger part of him thinks what Ellen doesn't know can't possibly get him killed. He gulps, his mind racing. _Right?_

The sweet scent of cooked fruit and wax call him back to the kitchen and Jo. His eyes widen as he sees the perfect pastry crust, the flaky goodness of the latticework top revealing plump, glazed cherries. His stomach growls. Voice practically childlike, he says, "You made me pie?"

Jo grins and nods up at him, holding the dessert out. "Now blow out the candle, jackass," she teases, "before it's covered in wax."

With an obedient puff of air, they watch as the flame flickers out to leave ghost-like fingers of smoke spiraling between the lovers. Lust creeping into the depths of Dean's gaze, he takes the pie plate and shifts it to the counter. He wants pie, but he wants to kiss the baker more.

His hand slips into her hair roughly and he pulls her to him, lowering his mouth to cover hers and devouring her with frenzied lips and tongue and teeth. He doesn't stop until his lungs burn for air and they're both completely breathless.

Ready to dive in seeking more and wondering how far she'll let him go at the sight of her kiss-swollen mouth, he flicks the light on. He wants to watch her expressions. See the passion in her eyes, her pupils blown with arousal.

Jo takes the pie across the room and pulls a knife from the drawer, all the while trying to slow the quickening beat of her heart. She's opening the cabinet above her, reaching to grab a couple of plates, when a big hand covers hers. She sucks in a breath, her eyes drifting closed at the drugging sound of her name as it escapes his lips, "Jo..."

Reacting to the strong arm snaking around her waist, she leans back against his chest. A soft moan slips from her throat as he pushes her hair out of the way and his hot mouth drags the column of her neck, teeth scraping gently over her skin.

His hands skim her sides, barely touching her breasts as they drop to her hips and then her thighs. Rolling his hips forward as he pulls her back against his frame, he leaves little doubt as to his lecherous intent. "I want you..."

"Pie first," she instructs breathlessly, "birthday sex later..."

Pie and sex. Sex and pie. Having both, did it really matter what order they were in? With a reluctant groan, he gives her the upper hand and takes a seat at the table. It's a struggle to get his breathing and libido under control. He manages to convince himself he's doing a good job...until she joins him at the table.

Jo places a large slice of pie in front of Dean and hands him a fork before sitting in the chair next to him with her own smaller piece. They sit in a companionable silence, the only sounds being the yummy noises Dean makes as he enjoys his gift.

She smiles, absently picking at the crust and grabbing a cherry between her fingers. It's tart and sweet in her mouth and her grin widens. She continues to pick at the pie, unaware he's watching her every move until he grabs her wrist.

Watching Jo pluck fruit from the filling and pop it into her mouth drives him crazy. Seeing her stained fingers, the pink of her tongue caressing her lip pushes him even further. He licks the sticky sweetness from her digits before sucking them into his mouth. A harsh growl escaping him, he mutters, "Mine."

He sweeps her plate out of the way and it shatters at their feet. But he doesn't care and it doesn't seem Jo does either. Not when he lifts her onto the table and forces himself between her thighs. Not when his mouth covers hers. And _definitely_ not when his fingers rub over the front of her panties.

"But -" Jo begins only to gasp as his touch moves beneath the lace barrier. "You haven't finished your pie..."

Dean smiles darkly at the throaty purr she makes when he pumps her with his fingers, the pad of his thumb teasing over the bundle over nerves just above his invasion. "And I'll eat every fucking crumb," he promises, his mouth scalding over her pulse point as he alternates playful nips of his incisors with soothing swipes of his tongue. Shifting his gaze to hers, seeing and feeling the evidence of her own lust, he adds, "Right now I'm hungry for something else."

Jo's hands reach for his belt and she bites her lip. His devilish fingers curl and she fights to maintain eye contact as if it's a game of who will break first. Dean smirks, his smile vanishing as his head drops back when her fingers wrap around his length.

"Mmm," he moans. "You're gonna end this before it starts."

Jo raises an eyebrow, but doesn't slow her touch. Her hand moves over his heated arousal, granite smoothness pulsing in her hand. Tormenting him she demands, "Make me stop then."

That part's easy. He grabs her shirt and tugs it upward. The movement completely distracts her and she hurriedly pushes his button down from his shoulders. They trade article for article - his t-shirt for her bra, shoes flung over shoulders, skirt rucked up as his pants drop to his ankles. He peels her soaked panties down her thighs and she uses her toes to force his boxers down.

Jo leans back on the table and Dean's eyes drift over her like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. He tries to decide what he wants first as she gives him a provocative lick of her lips.

Rough, scarred hands slide up her thighs, parting them further. He shifts her to the edge of the table as he kicks out of his jeans and underwear. But he doesn't enter her. That's exactly what she wants - exactly what she expects - and it's _his_ show.

Instead, his mouth attaches to a puckered nipple and he tugs it sharply with a light graze of his teeth. He massages her thighs with his thumbs as he trails blazing, open mouth kisses over her chest and down her flat stomach. He still doesn't give her what she wants, even as she whimpers and squirms in his grasp.

His mouth works over her ankle and her toned calf, momentarily distracting her from his next move. Hooking an ankle around the leg of a chair, he drags it to him and takes a seat. He torments her, fingers digging into the supple flesh of her thighs as his his tongue lashes at her slick core and he feasts on her.

"You love that, don't you?" he taunts, sucking the tight little bud and making her moan. She doesn't have to answer, he _knows_ she does. It's in the way her fingers comb through his hair. His own probe her in response.

Coming back up to her mouth, letting her feel his desire pressing against her thigh, he feathers a kiss across her parted lips. "Tell me you want me, Jo," he commands. "Tell me you want to feel me inside you."

"No," she fights, her body rippling around his fingers. She knows she can't hold out forever. That he won't let her. His relentless touch and the way he give her everything won't allow her to deny him. "_Christo_," she chokes out as a toe-curling orgasm washes over her. Gasping, she pants, "You want it, take it, Dean. Take what you know is yours."

Dean falters briefly, cursing himself for not grabbing the condom from his wallet _before_ letting his pants drop. Better not to assume, even when you're assured you're getting lucky.

Chest heaving, Jo pushes the fruit bowl out of the way and grabs the foil packet stashed beneath it. Licking her lips, she drags it down her chest and lays it over her navel. Her eyebrows waggling because she's regained the upper hand, she wraps a calf around his thigh and demands, "What are you waiting for?"

Making quick work of the protection, he mutters under his breath, "God, I love you..." as he positions himself. Tight, wet heat surrounds him and he's consumed by a white hot flame of lust that sets a blistering pace. He sucks at the pillow of her lower lip, supporting her upper body with a strong forearm as he grips the table with the other.

The heavy oak scraps across the floor with the force of their movement, but Dean doesn't slow. Apples and oranges roll from the table and his abandoned fork clinks against the plate beneath it. He smirks. It excites him - _she_ excites him.

Jo arches slightly over Dean's arm, her palm slipping against the surface of the table as she tries to gain leverage. A feral cry escapes as his tongue flattens over her nipple, his thumb and pointer playing with its mate. "Oh, God!"

His mouth twitches. He likes the sound of that coming from her lips. "That'll work," he breathes heavily against her neck. "But I prefer Dean..."

Jo reaches to pummel him for the remark, but her hand grips his shoulder as her body tightens around his. It's forgotten when he pulls her close and gifts her with a long, sultry kiss. They move in tandem - in and out, over and over - until the dam breaks and they scream each other's names.

Collapsing back on the table, one wrist above her head as her other lay spread over her abdomen, Jo continues to tremble. Her brain vaguely registers the sound of Dean's zipper in the background and the feel of his hands smoothing her skirt back into place.

Peppering her chest and neck with wet kisses, he helps her sit up and covers her with his shirt. As he buttons the flannel around her, she grins before tilting her head up for a kiss. When they come apart, she whispers, "Happy birthday, Winchester."

And, as he gathers her into his arms and prepares to carry her to bed for round two, it is. A very happy birthday indeed


End file.
